Caught in THE Act - A Tom Hiddleston Fanfiction One Shot
by sherekahnsgirl
Summary: Tom accidentally walks in on a female friend who is masturbating, and he's unable to resist "helping". Dominant Tom, Light Spanking, Light D/s, Sex, Fluff, Smut.


A/N: Just a bit of shameless smut

 _What if your friend Tom Hiddleston accidentally caught you in a compromising position - with yourself . . ._

"Hello? Is anyone home?"

Grace's eyes flew open in abject horror. Holy Mother of fuck! What the fuck was he doing here? Her eyes darted to the clock - it was only seven! He wasn't supposed to arrive until NINE!

Before she could do anything, before she could even so much as closed her legs, he was there, standing at the entrance to her living room, looking at least as shocked as she was feeling, those startling blue eyes taking in everything about the sordid scene that was laid before his eyes at once as she put her hand over her eyes and fervently wished she was dead.

Really, honest and for true _dead_.

Tom swallowed hard at what he was seeing, barely able to believe it, knowing the sight would be branded into his mind for all time. It was blatantly obvious that he'd managed to interrupt her in the middle of something he would have paid money - big money - to watch her do.

She had been stretched out on her couch, her head resting on a pillow against the arm of it, a pretty pastel patchwork quilt bunched at her ankles. A cute, contrastingly innocent looking nightie with pretty pink roses was gathered at her armpits, exposing everything from those beautiful breasts down. There was a pump bottle on the end table behind her that declared in big, bold purple letters that it was a famous brand of personal lubricant and he could hear the faint but unmistakable sounds of a vibrator from somewhere over there near her, although he hadn't actually laid eyes on it.

Yet.

And then his gaze flickered to the huge TV screen that dominated the room - although nowhere near as much as the beautiful sight of her like that, as far as he was concerned - to the movie she was watching, which was obviously a porno. He thought he recognized the male lead, but wasn't sure.

But he definitely recognized that it wasn't some fluffy, romantic chick flick she was getting off to - just the opposite. The couple was on a bed, back to front, the man on the bottom, holding the blindfolded woman's bound wrists above her head, his huge cock stretching her pussy wide as he fucked her as he groped her tits with his free hand.

The expression on the woman's face was one of agonized pleasure, and Tom couldn't help but wonder if Grace had been putting herself in that woman's place - if she wanted to be fucked like that, to be treated like that. He'd kind of gotten that vibe from her, but she'd shied away from him for some reason after the Jameson had made him bold one night while they were at a party at Luke's and he hadn't asked permission to kiss her but rather had taken one from her, easily holding her helpless against him as he slowly tasted every bit of her mouth and lips. She had struggled a bit at first but she wasn't much more sober than he was and had submitted rather quickly and even kissed him back, practically getting him off right then and there, but he'd been dragged away and she had been even more studiously avoiding him after that. Plus he'd been so busy lately that he hadn't been able to confront her about it.

His cock jumped behind his too tight jeans at that thought of the woman in the movie being her and the man him, expanding and filling what little crotch room it had until he thought he was going to have the indentation of a zipper down the underside of his penis like some bizarre tattoo for the rest of his life.

She'd snapped her legs closed just milliseconds after he'd entered the room, as if she didn't care if she snapped the fingers clean off the hands that had just been lying between them. The nightshirt was yanked down as far as it could go, and he watched her trying to stretch it further than the material would allow in order to try to cover her nakedness.

Watching his eyes as they had glided eagerly over every detail of this debacle, then settled on the TV screen, Grace reached for the remote but hit the wrong button and turned it on again, so that they could both clearly see the guy turning the woman over onto her tummy, her plump, carmine ass - split as it was by the black flange of a butt plug - as well as the backs of her thighs showing the unmistakable handprint that meant she'd been spanked, and spanked hard.

"Motherfucker!" she growled, pushing buttons frantically until it finally shut off and she buried her face in her hands again, so humiliated and angry that she wanted to throw her head back and wail with it.

Belatedly, Tom remembered that he liked to consider himself a gentleman. He'd been overcome by the sight of her like that and his powerful reactions to it - to her specifically and just the mere thought of what she had been doing - and had forgotten himself entirely because of it.

"I am so sorry -"

"Shut the fuck up, Thomas and get out!"

His mouth snapped shut with a click as he stood there for another long moment, desperately wanting to just drop the crap he'd brought with him for their little party tonight and dive onto the couch to part her legs and finish what she'd started with his mouth.

He wanted to do that so badly his mouth literally watered, his fists clenching and unclenching with the need to hold those legs open while he pleasured her, reaching up occasionally to squeeze her breasts and tweak and pinch the erect nipples that he couldn't keep the idea off his mind for more than a few seconds at a time.

Severe reluctance - about which he felt not inconsiderable shame - colored every step as he backed around the corner and into the relatively neutral territory of her kitchen, where he finally let go of the crap he'd had in his hands when he'd first come in the door.

B.T.S.O.H.L.T.

Before The Sight of Her Like That.

He had a hunch that everything in his life now was going to be divided into two categories - before and after what he'd just seen.

In the living room - alone but not really since he was right around the corner - Grace sighed. She wasn't really sure if she'd meant him to actually leave, but at least he was no longer staring at her as if she was a smorgasbord and he was a starving man.

As much as she knew she didn't want to, she knew she had to get up and they had to move past this, somehow, although she had to admit to herself that she wasn't at all sure how they could accomplish that. She knew she never wanted to face him ever, ever again, and she also knew she didn't have that luxury. She supposed she could order him out of her flat, but something in the back of her mind thought that was a bit of an overblown, hysterical female reaction. They were two adults, for Chrissakes. It wasn't as if she thought _he_ didn't masturbate - she just hadn't had the luck - she frowned at herself and rephrased immediately - the terrible misfortune of walking in on him doing that.

As he had her.

Why was it so much more embarrassing for her - as a woman - to realize that he had confirmation that she pleasured herself? The feminist within her bridled at the thought. Of course she brought herself off - that was why God had given her hands that reached, for crying out loud.

Besides, her social life was dead - by her own hand - and it wasn't as if someone else was going to miraculously volunteer to do it for her.

She refused to even consider the idea that the man she could hear shifting about nervously in her kitchen might be willing to do exactly that. She and Tom were friends - just that - and barely that if it came down to it. If it weren't for Luke she would never have met him, and they were far from best buds - which is exactly the status she'd very carefully maintained for them, despite the rumors - none of which Luke denied - about the fact that his tastes, when it came to sex, were very closely in line with her own.

Oh there had been that one kiss, but she'd very carefully not allowed it to become anything more than that.

If she admitted it, in the back of her mind, in the darkest part of the night, when she was all alone, it was because she wanted exactly that entirely too much, and she knew it was something she could never, ever expect to happen, so she wouldn't allow herself to dwell on it or tempt herself with that which she could not have.

Women like her - who looked and acted like she did - couldn't realistically expect to ever be anything other than a friend to someone who looked - and acted - like Tom Hiddleston did.

They saw each other occasionally, almost always in relation to something Luke was doing. Hell, even tonight usually would have just been her and Luke watching chick flicks and eating pizza and drinking entirely too much. She'd been surprised - and a little nervous - when he'd asked if Tom could come too, saying he knew the other man was at loose ends and that he really wanted the two of them to become better friends.

Grace's "I'm being set up" radar had pinged immediately, but she couldn't really provide Luke with a valid excuse as to why she didn't want Tom to join them, dammit.

So there she was. It was all Luke's fault that she was feeling friggin' trapped in her living room while fucking studly, all-gorgeous-all-the-time-even-if-he-was-three-days-dead Tom Hiddleston stood in her kitchen.

And it didn't help her situation one bit that he was currently sporting her favorite of all time looks for him - a head full of longer than usual dark ginger waves and a full ginger beard.

Fuck. She couldn't think about that now!

Deciding that the best defense was a good offense, she forced herself to get up and do something, and cleaning up the unmistakable evidence of her depravity was first on her mind. "You're _early_. Like two fucking full hours, early," she accused downright nastily.

His reply was so annoyingly calm and even and measured she wanted to strangle him. "I came -" she noted his slight hesitation at the word " - when I was told to come." Good bless Luke's machinations, he thought to himself. That man deserved some kind of serious medal or reward of some sort for this.

Of course he could never know the real reason why . . .

"Fucking Luke."

Perhaps his reward would be Tom saving him from Grace's murderous wrath.

"He's been trying to set something - I'm not even sure what - up between us since I can remember. Since before I moved here."

His mouth had been open to point out to her that she could hardly blame this on him. Even if Luke had sent him here a couple hours early, he could hardly have known what she would be doing when he arrived, or that he'd get an amazing, arousing eyeful of it.

But he thought better of it and held his tongue. She probably wasn't interested in hearing anyone defend Luke at the moment, and his whole goal was to keep her from throwing him out, which he was very pleasantly surprised she hadn't already done.

Grace surveyed the damage, enormously grateful for something else to think about, folding the light quilt and putting it where it belonged on the back of the couch, gathering up the vibrator that she was horrified to realize was still obscenely buzzing away in the crack between cushions and grabbing the giant, industrial sized bottle of lube - vowing to herself that the next time she went shopping she was going to get something much more discreet - and tucking them . . . where?

She knew she would have to go by him to get to her bedroom and get dressed, and she didn't want to be lugging a toy and lube while she did it. Not that she thought he posed any kind of danger to her - if anything, Tom was going to polite her to death. Hell, almost the first thing he'd done when he'd been confronted by this fiasco was apologize, even though it wasn't in any way his fault. But just the idea of it seemed . . . somehow wrong to her, as if she was advertising her sexuality to him somehow - as if he hadn't just gotten more than a good peep into it . Instead, she tucked them under the vanity sink in the bathroom, coming out of it to stand there for a moment, gazing straight down the hall at where he was leaning against the kitchen counter, facing her, staring right back at her, one arm across his stomach, the other with its fingers at his lips.

Those damned, full, sexy lips of his being touched by slim, long, handsome fingers.

Clamping down on the sexual desire that began rising within her again, that she would have sworn should have been killed off forever considering what had just happened, Grace plastered a patently false smile on her face and began walking towards him. "Well, let's just agree that this unbelievably embarrassing catastrophe never happened, shall we, and that we'll take the horrific sight to our graves and never tell another living soul?" She even forced herself to be brave enough to look him in the eye - for less than a second, but she did it.

She'd known, somehow, though, in the back of her mind, that he wouldn't be able to let her get away that easily, and she was dead right.

As she passed him, Tom reached out and caught her arm, his hands sliding down it to use the length and strength of his fingers to form a soft yet unyielding manacle around her wrist that held her just right tight without hurting her in the least.

Looking anywhere but at him, Grace whispered in a voice that was hoarse with embarrassment and humiliation but that came out sounding as if her throat was clogged with screams of ecstasy instead, "I'm just going to get dressed -"

She stopped mid-sentence because he had taken the hand that he'd captured and bowed low over it, pressing warm, soft lips to its back and causing a telltale shudder that he couldn't possibly have missed to run through her entire body from her tingling scalp to her bare, curling toes.

But then she thought of something that had her desperately trying to extract her hand from his in an absolute panic. She'd been in the bathroom, but she'd been so discombobulated about the situation that she hadn't done what should have been of paramount importance while she was in there.

She hadn't washed her hands.

Grace knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the fingers of the hand that he was holding, mere inches from his nose, were unmistakably stained with a scent that was purely _hers_.

Tom straightened, ignoring her frantic attempts to reclaim that which she had lost to him, tightening his grip just a bit against her efforts and easily forcing her to turn her hand over so that it was palm up. Grace couldn't seem to look away as she watched in morbid fascination as he did something she never could have expected, pressing another kiss to the sensitive center of her palm, then bringing her finger - her guilty as sin, mad-skilled middle finger - to his mouth and slowly licking the full length of it before taking it into that hot, wet cavern and laving it scrupulously clean, leaving it very damp from his attentions as he moved on to the rest of her digits including her thumb, treating them in exactly the same devastatingly sensuous fashion.

Was that her whimper when he finished and moved her hand away? She didn't figure she was going to own up to it, regardless, her heart pounding so hard in her chest that she felt faint even as she began again to try to squirm away from him.

But he hadn't released her wrist or loosened his grip in the least, stifling her attempts to back away from him with slow, thorough efficiency by using his hold to tug her closer to him, then reaching his other long arm of his down to catch her free wrist before she had a chance to realize its vulnerability, drawing the both of them behind her and anchoring them there with one of his.

Tom's other hand rose to tilt her chin so that their eyes met as the long fingers of the hand at the small of her back began to slowly gather the material of her short nightie, raising the hem inexorably until she could feel cool air on her overheated bottom and privates.

Grace was already breathing heavily and he'd barely touched her. She knew she should be putting up more of a fight, knew she shouldn't just stand here in his arms and let him do this to her, but she couldn't seem to summon the will to fight him in the manner she knew she should - she couldn't even get herself to tear her eyes from his, even when the hand under her chin left it to skim the barest of his fingertips down her front, catching on the diamond hard point of a turgid nipple and making her arch even more than his hold on her wrists, but not pausing, moving to the middle of her tummy on its way down, his touch much less tentative now as she felt the entirety of that big hand against her, until it had passed the well hiked hem of her nightshirt and come to rest with his fingertips pressing insistently at the Y at the top of her thighs, but not quite taking possession of it yet.

She didn't know where he found the room, exactly, but he took another step towards her, first one enormous foot then the other landing directly between hers. All Grace could seem to do was to stare down at them helplessly, pressed against him as she was, her arms still tightly secured behind her.

Gradually, as if he had all the time in the world, Tom began to inch his feet apart, which in turn gave her no choice but to do the same.

"Look at me, Grace," he rasped, his voice so low she barely recognized it, tone full of command in a way he had never spoken to her before.

A large part of her wanted to defy him - needed to assert herself against what he was doing to her - but that was her mind. Her body had long since begun giving aid and comfort to the enemy, and that was the part of her that had her raising her head until her shy, skittish eyes finally settled on those savagely blue ones, beginning to drown in them as he moved that hand - that bold, firm hand - over the most sacred, secret, hidden part of her, where she was all damp and soft and swollen - where she was every bit a woman being cupped by a suddenly very dominant man's hand.

Those fingers were far from idle once they'd attained their ultimate goal, crooking gently inside her as he pressed the heel of his broad palm directly atop her clit and began rubbing and pressing in agonizingly slow circles.

"Fuck, you are _so_ wet!" His breath washed over her ear as he growled, "I want you - I've wanted you for a very long time. If you can tell me truthfully that you don't want me, too, I'll walk out of here and that'll be it between you and me. You have my word." His head bent and he kissed her wildly as his hand continued to probe and rub her possessively. "But if you can't do that, right here, right now, then I'm going to make you mine."

Mouth open - what she knew was dangerously closed to slack jawed - Grace had no choice but to let her forehead fall against the formidable wall of his chest with a weak, nonetheless throaty, moan, unable to physically support it any longer, unable to say the words that would release her from a fate her mind had yet to come to terms with wanting. Seconds later, her knees gave out entirely, too, but luckily Tom had quick reflexes and simply swung her up into his arms, striding quickly into her bedroom.

He hadn't anticipated the fact that, as soon as he'd put her down, she would try to scramble across the bed away from him, but his impressive reach came to his aid and within seconds she found herself pulled back against him as he lay on his side on the bed, his arms holding hers crossed over her chest.

His voice rumbled into her ear from a very short distance. "I wish I had come in just a bit later, Grace. I would have loved to have caught you in the throes of your orgasm." His mouth landed just below her earlobe, sucking and flicking the tender flesh he found there. "But now I'm going to do the gentlemanly thing and give you what I so rudely interrupted." He paused there deliberately, finishing with a mild threat delivered in a deep growl, "I'm going to make you cum, Grace, and there's nothing you can do to stop me." There was that sharp, almost violent shudder again, shaking her bottom against the prominent ridge of his still jean covered hard on - just what he'd been hoping for in a reaction from her. Before he had a chance to think too much about what he was doing - and perhaps talk himself out of it, the hands that had held her arms instead found the hem of her nightshirt and used it to pull it off over her head, leaving her naked in his arms.

"Reach up and put your hands on the back of my head and don't move them from there until I've said you may or I'll blister your bottom worse than the girl on the TV."

He heard her outright gasp at that pronouncement and he held his breath for a moment until those hands began to creep ever so slowly up until her fingertips found his scalp.

It wasn't a hardship at all to do, but Grace was surprised to find herself still wanting to fight against herself, to resist obeying him with all she was worth.

But when she looked down and saw the size of those hands of his as they slowly worked their way up her ribs and took surprisingly gentle possession of her breasts, and remembered that he had lifted her in his arms absolutely effortlessly, she realized that - as much as the idea of being spanked - particularly by him - aroused her, it wasn't necessarily something she wanted to experience the reality of.

Not that it sounded as if he was going to give her the choice, but still. Feeling the slight curl of that beautiful hair of his around her fingers was divine, and the way this position forced her to arch herself as if offering herself up to him added multiple, throbbing layers to her already rampant arousal.

"Good girl," he whispered, "although . . . " he paused for effect as his fingers began to pluck at nipples he was glad to see were already peaked and eager for his attentions, "I saw you hesitate, Grace. You must never hesitate when I give you command. That's very naughty."

Dear God, just his voice, the mildly scolding, chiding tone he was using, had her clit contracting once, very hard.

So much for avoiding being spanked - she found herself deftly turned, within his arms, even so elegantly as to be sure that her arms found their way back around his neck and into his hair as she faced him now, her body nude pressed firmly up against his fully clothed one, which was another way of adding fuel to the passion that was fit to consume her.

Tom's free hand cupped the back of her neck, holding her head still as he caught her eye and rasped in a manner that conveyed true regret, somehow, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to spank you for that, _ma_ _petite_."

Although she didn't speak the language, she knew French when she heard it, and he had just called her his little girl, and every part of her melted.

Just then he rolled onto his back, keeping her tightly to him. "I'm sorry to have to make you cry, Grace. But I _will have_ your obedience."

Damn, this man was dangerous! He was hitting every single button she owned!

With that, his other hand - his dominant, right hand, she realized belatedly - travelled down, over her shoulder, down her side, and over her flank to her bottom, then, surprisingly down further, to pull her legs rudely apart so that she straddled him, her privates perched atop the obscenely huge bulge of his.

Grace wasn't quite sure why that made her feel a million times more vulnerable to him, all of a sudden, but it did. She felt herself become hyper aware of every move he made, all of that sensitivity coming to rest in that tiny button that was being forcefully rubbed against the rough material of his jeans any time either of them so much as breathed.

But then the first swat landed, and it savagely drew her attention away from her own pleasure and into her own misery. She had been spanked before, but not like this. Those were fucking amateurs, pretenders - this man _spanked_!

She was shedding tears by the second swat, sobbing inconsolably by the fifth as he alternated cheeks, but each swat landed on or very close to the previous. It was extremely intense and agonizing, especially when he didn't stop at ten, and he didn't stop at fifteen.

On the twentieth swat, he left his hand where it had landed on her searing red bottom.

He had held her still throughout it all with just that one hand that occasionally moved down to her mid back, spending more time there as the spanking had continued. She knew enough to keep her eyes on his even as she wept uncontrollably and wailed her discomfort to the walls.

The hand on her behind didn't remain there for long as his left hand came up again to a very controlling position at the back of her head, his fingers laid along her scalp as hers had just been along his.

"Good girl," he nodded, speaking very deliberately as he stared back at her. "You took that well, lovely."

She contracted, once, hard, at the praise, her body suffused with a glow it didn't quite recognize, but it was far from unpleasant. It must've been something about him. Dear God, he was beautiful - perfect, glowing skin, thick black lashes, lips that parts of her were screaming for and eyes - damn his eyes - they were just too gorgeous to be real.

Her mind was dragged away from admiring that beautiful man because his hand had moved down the slope of her still roasting bottom, his eager fingertips slipping between her folds, heading downwards.

He paused at her bottom flower, circling it speculatively.

Grace drew a sharp breath and held preternaturally still.

"No, not so soon," he mused out loud, fingers diving lower still to find themselves drowned in her sweet nectar.

"What have we here?" he asked loudly, knowing it would bring a blush out in her, and he wasn't disappointed, even though it was just the two of them. "Grace," he scolded fiercely, "you are entirely too wet for a lady who has just been punished. I can see that I'll need to be much stricter with you if you're to learn from your chastisements."

Fairly desperate not to be spanked again, Grace bit her lip, hoping to forestall that possibility by saying in what she hoped was a submissive way, "Yes, Sir."

His smile at her effort was warm and encouraging. "Now, what were we doing this originally for . . . " he tapped his finger to his lip as if he was thinking. "I remember. Someone was rudely interrupted while attempting to pleasure herself, wasn't she?"

If she blushed any harder she was going to pass out.

She didn't notice how still he had become.

"Grace, I asked you a question."

"I'm sorry, Sir. I assumed it was rhetorical."

"It would probably be best for you if you didn't assume much of anything from here on out."

"Yes, Sir."

Was that meek voice really her?!

He began arranging her the way he wanted, with them lying on their sides, his big body folded around hers, controlling her subtly just by virtue of its size. Tom lifted her outer leg over his and back, giving him uninhibited access to the heart of her.

"Where should your hands be, Grace Rachel Richardson?" he asked sharply.

Her hands fled to bury themselves in his hair again, but she didn't escape this time unscathed.

Both hands descended on her breasts, squeezing hard up from the bottom and using progressively harder pressure as he worked his way out until her nipples were being agonizingly pinched, until the very last tidbit of them escaped, repeating the painful process again as soon as it was through.

And then three more times, until a frantic Grace was writhing and keening and twisting, trying to avoid his hands at all costs

But she had kept her head enough - despite the discomfort - that she had kept her hands right where he wanted them to be.

And when it stopped, his right hand headed south immediately, adjusting her leg further back than it had ended up while she was being punished, those fingers wisping their way down to land, butterfly light, on her feminine groove, middle finger insinuating itself into its depths, the accompanying two fingers resting on her puffy outer lips.

Tom dipped his middle finger into the waterfall that was her very liquid response to him, then brought a finger full of it up to her distended clit - millimeter by millimeter - to lay the pad of his finger directly on top of it, pressing his thumb just above it to force every bit of it out of its hiding place.

She emitted a ragged moan that grew in volume and intensity as he began to move his finger.

Grace was momentarily distracted from the tidal wave that was her building ecstasy when Tom's other hand began to gently pluck at her nipples, not pinching much at all, but they were already so sensitized that she could barely tolerate it.

But tolerate it she would have to.

He was good, too damned good. He changed things up frequently, so that she couldn't really being to create the buildup she needed to cum, and he was also - at the same time - learning a ton about what she liked or didn't like, and she knew that he would file all of that information away in his steel trap mind so that he could recall it at any time and use it in whatever way he saw fit.

Eventually, when she was frustrated beyond belief, the hand that had been driving her crazy left her in the lurch for long seconds, during which she moaned in disbelief - until she felt him behind her, between them, unbuttoning his top button and pulling his zipper down, which rubbed against her sore bottom, making her try to arch away.

But his other hand stopped that easily, taking a position between her hips and forcing her back against him as his cock finally sprang free from its close confines. "No, little one, you must always offer yourself to me."

Sitting up on his elbow, he maneuvered himself to the entrance to her quim, turning her head so that he was staring intently into her eyes as his body began to claim hers, watching her expressive face as she started at his size, her breath catching as he pressed himself inexorably into her, stretching her forcibly around his thickness, thrusting himself home within her, barely able to maintain control as she spasmed several times around him, although he knew it was just her body trying to come to terms with the size of his imposition.

Grace could not seem to stay still. Even though she was feeling a bit uncomfortably stretched, she wanted to move. She wanted to fuck him, to ride him and if he wasn't going to do it, she was going to try to.

The second she tried to move away from him, to slide him out of her, she found his arms clamped tightly around her, holding her completely immobile against him, although, of course, one hand had of course ended up tweaking a nipple and the fingers of the other were already surrounding the tiny, defiant mountain that was her clit, middle finger, as always, claiming the best bits for itself.

When he fucked her - and that was exactly what it was since he was holding her so tightly that she couldn't move, he began to speak as his fingers brushed back and forth - sideways - over that little bud, using his deepest, darkest roughest tone.

"Now that I've had you like this, Grace, I will never let you go. You will be mine forever. You'll be lucky if I ever let you see the light of day again. I may just keep you tied to the bed so that I can fuck you any time I like, any way I like. I'm going to keep you so full of me that it's going to feel strange to you when I'm _not_ inside you. I'm going to tease you for weeks on end before I make you - before I _allow_ you - to cum with my mouth and my tongue."

His strokes were becoming faster and much harder as his fingers flicked her clit relentlessly. "But here and now, my darling, I want you to cum for me." His voice dropping even further, he ordered, still almost eerily quiet and controlled, " _Obey_ me, Grace. Do as you're told, _now_ , _quickly_ , or do I need to give you a taste of my _belt_ across your _backside_ -"

Grace's mind exploded with the potent, powerful things he was saying to her even before her body did seconds later, arching and bucking and heaving - trying to, anyway, but he controlled that, too, forcibly muting her movements as he continued to drive himself into her, pumping fast and hard, bottoming out every time, battering himself into her mercilessly until he, too, stiffened and shuddered, helplessly emptying himself within her in agonizingly ecstatic spurts.

His limbs felt like Jell-O, and he knew he couldn't stand even if he had to. Well, if she needed him to then he would die in the attempt, of course, but other than that, he wasn't going anywhere.

Not that he wanted to.

Tom was still holding her tight as she shivered and shuddered in his arms. He could feel her still spasming regularly around him as he receded from her and he had a sudden thought. His hand was still atop her, and he crooked his middle finger just the slightest bit.

Her squeal was fuel to his fire. She was so creamy he barely had to extend his finger in order to slicken it again, which he did immediately, then began to molest her languidly, taking his time, kissing her neck and using his other hand to press first one finger into her, then quickly a second, which raised the volume of her cries considerably, but he kept the same loping pace, never varying it until her breathing became erratic again and she began to moan softly, "No, no - please! It's too much - I - I can't!"

It was his voice that did it to her this time more than anything else he was doing to her. "You _can_ and you _will_ , my girl."

And she could, and she did.

At least three more times before he took pity on her and simply held her close.


End file.
